Like as to make our appetite more keen
With eager compounds we our palate urge,
As to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge.
Even so being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding;
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseased ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love t' anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured.
But thence I learn and find the lesson true:
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 152: In Loving Thee Thou Know'st I Am Forsworn
- Sonnet 8: Music To Hear, Why Hear'st Thou Music Sadly?
- Sonnet 19: Devouring Time Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws
- Sonnet 146: Poor Soul, The Centre Of My Sinful Earth
- Sonnet 111: O, For My Sake Do You With Fortune Chide